


Molly's Favorite

by Dreamin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Post-Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 09:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10716522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamin/pseuds/Dreamin
Summary: Christmas time at 221B. Sherlock must make it up to Molly after being his usual insensitive self. Set a year from "His Last Vow."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this to ff.net December 2016 and thought it was time to post it here, despite this not being anywhere near Christmas.

“I do wish you’d let me help, John,” his former landlady said worriedly as John struggled to carry three large shopping bags full of wrapped presents of various sizes up the stairs to Sherlock’s flat.

“It’s alright, Mrs. Hudson, I’ve got it,” he said determinedly, his voice muffled by the presents directly in front of his face. The door to the sitting room was ajar, John kicked it open all the way then barely made it into the room before the presents slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.

“I do hope you didn’t get Mary anything fragile,” came Sherlock’s disinterested voice from the direction of the kitchen.

“There could be some of yours here, you know,” John muttered as he started picking up the presents a few at a time and setting them on the coffee table. He prayed that the coffee table bending under the weight was just his imagination – surely he didn’t buy his wife and baby daughter that many gifts.

“None of those are for me,” Sherlock declared as he approached the mountain of presents, a cup of tea in each hand. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide my presents in my own flat. Also, you wouldn’t have bothered with having my presents professionally wrapped.” He gave John one of the cups.

“Thanks.” John wrapped his cold hands around the warm cup as Sherlock sat down at the table and turned on someone else’s laptop. At least, John hoped the laptop belonged to someone else – the white laptop with holly-shaped rhinestone decals definitely wasn’t Sherlock’s style. “Client left that behind, yeah?”

“Left behind, yes,” Sherlock said distractedly as he started typing. “Client, no. Now, to get to the bottom of this little mystery.” He smirked as he clicked on something and started scrolling.

“If it wasn’t a client, then who?” John asked as he came around to Sherlock’s side of the table, sipping his tea.

On the screen was the laptop owner’s iTunes account, Sherlock was currently scrolling through the playlists. Titles like “Bedtime” and “Workout Songs” went by. One of them made John do a double-take.

“Creature of the Night?” he asked, confused.

“Molly was a professional wrestling fan in her youth,” Sherlock replied disinterestedly, “but that’s not important right now.”

“Hang on, this is Molly’s? You hacked into Molly Hooper’s laptop?” John decided Sherlock needed another lecture on personal boundaries, and soon.

“Hardly hacked – her password only took two guesses.” Sherlock smirked. “I knew it had to be my name – capital S-h-e-r-l-o-c-k didn’t work, capital S-h-three-r-l-zero-c-k did. Molly’s never more obvious than when she’s trying to be clever.”

“You do know she’s going to murder you, right?”

Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal. “She left here a few minutes before you arrived.”

“Why was she here? You were complaining this morning that you don’t have any cases. Did something come up?”

“If only,” he sighed. “The criminal classes seem to have taken a holiday. As I haven’t been to Bart’s in days, Molly assumed boredom had set in.”

“A reasonable assumption,” John noted.

“She came over ostensibly to show me the first draft of her latest pathology paper, but really to check on me. With that unnecessarily large bag she carries, she won’t notice her missing laptop until she gets back to her flat. That will take twenty minutes. It will take her another half-hour to get back here and reclaim it. That gives me plenty of time to identify this bloody song.”

John blinked in surprise. “What bloody song?”

“The bloody song Molly has been humming daily since mid-November.” Sherlock paused his scrolling to look up at his friend, scowling. “Surely you’ve heard her.”

“Unlike you, I’m not around her almost every day.” John smiled a bit. “You still haven’t asked her out, have you?”

Sherlock went back to scrolling, scowling in irritation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

It was John’s turn to smirk as he sat down across from Sherlock. “Sure you don’t.” He sipped his tea. “The first person you called when you got out of rehab wasn’t me, Mycroft, or Mrs. Hudson, it was Molly.”

“I needed to apologize to the person I hurt the most,” Sherlock said defensively, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Molly’s not the only one you hurt,” John said, just as defensively. “And there’s some debate as to whether she’s the one you hurt the most.”

Sherlock shot his best friend an apologetic look then went back to scrolling. “It has to be here somewhere.”

John rolled his eyes. “You said this started last month?”

“Yes, just after we saw a Christmas display at Harrods.”

“You really are thick sometimes – it must be a Christmas carol.”

“You mean one of those horridly sentimental songs that are completely inescapable this time of year?” Sherlock asked, aghast. “Molly would never…” he trailed off.

John grinned. “Never what? Never like such a thing? This is Molly Hooper we’re talking about, right? The same Molly Hooper who likes to wear fruit patterns on her clothes, who puts holly decals on her laptop, and who would drop everything just to help a certain consulting detective we both know?” John thought he saw a slight flush to his friend’s cheeks but decided it must be his imagination. “Believe me, Molly loves everything about Christmas.”

Sherlock sighed in annoyance. “Here’s her Christmas playlist.” He started down the list, playing just a few seconds of each song before moving on to the next.

John reached out and turned the laptop so they could both read the screen. “I assume if she hums it every day, it must be her favorite.” He pointed to one song. “There, that must be it – ‘The Christmas Waltz.’ She’s played it thirteen times, more than any of the others.”

“’Carol of the Bells’ must be her favorite,” Sherlock countered. “She has seven versions of that and only one version of each of the others.”

“There’s only one way to settle this,” John said. He clicked on “The Christmas Waltz” and it started playing. After just a few seconds, John saw his friend’s eyes light up in recognition.

“That’s it!” Sherlock listened carefully, his confused scowl deepening with every line. “This song is idiotic – it’s nothing but seasonal hazards and lies.”

“What are you on about?” John asked as he finished his tea. He noticed Sherlock hadn’t even touched his own.

Sherlock restarted the song then sang along with the first line. _“Frosted window panes, candles gleaming inside, painted candy canes on the tree.”_ He hit the Pause button. “Frost on the windows is indicative of improper insulation and candles are a fire hazard.”

John smiled a bit. “What, you don’t have an objection to painted candy canes?”

Sherlock ignored him as he pushed Play and sang the next line. _“Santa’s on his way, he’s filled his sleigh with things, things for you and for me.”_ He hit Pause again. “Santa – merely the first lie that parents tell their children.”

John raised an eyebrow, amused. “One a scale of one to ten, how difficult of a child were you?”

Sherlock muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “eleven.” He hit Play again. _“It’s the time of year when the world falls in love.”_ He scoffed. “Love, the next big lie, but this is one we tell ourselves. We make ourselves believe that all our hopes and dreams, our very happiness, is dependent on one other person. Sentimental nonsense.”

It didn’t escape John’s notice that Sherlock seemed to be including himself in that statement. “And I suppose your feelings for Molly are just another lie you’re telling yourself? And that my feelings for Mary, and hers for me, are also lies?” John felt his ire rising. He wanted to punch Sherlock in the nose but a quiet sound just outside the door stopped him. He turned to see Molly standing in the doorway, staring at Sherlock, her cheeks pale. One look back at Sherlock told John he hadn’t seen her yet.

“How can Molly like something so insipid?” Sherlock asked, annoyed.

The annoyance turned to shock as a pair of small, delicate hands snatched the laptop away. Both men looked up to see Molly standing there with tears in her eyes, which were fixed on Sherlock.

“How dare you?” she demanded. “’The Christmas Waltz’ was my mother’s favorite… She was always singing it this time of year…” Molly swallowed hard. “Her last Christmas, Mum was in hospital. She was too weak to sing it, or even hum it, so I sang it to her… I was ten, my singing voice wasn’t very strong, but my mother still died happy…” The threatened tears started to fall down her cheeks but her eyes turned from sorrowful to furious. “Sherlock Holmes, you have no right, no right at all to criticize something you know nothing about!”

Sherlock quickly rose from his chair and there was no way John could mistake the look of panic on the man’s face. “Molly, I …,” he started weakly.

John held his breath, praying his genius friend wasn’t about to say something utterly stupid, but his prayers were in vain.

“I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”

John groaned in frustration while Molly stared at Sherlock. “That is all you have to say to me?” she asked, incredulous.

The panic in Sherlock’s eyes was gone with his next blink, replaced with something like contrition. He murmured, “I’m sorry, Molly. Forgive me.” He leaned to kiss Molly’s cheek, reminding John instantly of that disastrous Christmas Eve party years before.

Molly must have been reminded too -- she quickly took a step back, glaring at Sherlock. “Saying you’re sorry isn’t enough this time, Sherlock.” She swallowed hard, tears threatening again. “Every time … every time I think you’re becoming a better person, you break my heart… This is the final time. I don’t want to see you again until you know what it’s like to feel an emotional connection to something … anything.”

John watched as Molly stormed out of the flat then heard her noisily descend the stairs. He turned to see Sherlock at one of the windows, looking out at the street with an unreadable expression.

“This has to be an extreme example of Not Good,” John said quietly, irritated. “You’ll need to do something big to get back in her good graces, mate.”

Sherlock turned to look at him, his expression as lost and sad as John had ever seen him. “I need specifics, John. What do I do?”

“What she said – find an emotional connection to something. A Christmas carol, that’ll show her you’re making up for being such an arse.” After a moment’s thought, he got on his own laptop and started typing.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asked.

“Dragging you out of your comfort zone.” John ignored Sherlock’s presence just over his shoulder as he typed out the email.

_Everybody,_

_I’d like to cordially invite you to hot chocolate at Baker Street tomorrow night at 9. Please bring biscuits to share and your favorite Christmas album – we’re going to help Sherlock find a favorite carol._

_John_

“Exactly who are **you** inviting to **my** flat?” Sherlock asked, and John knew from the tone of his best friend’s voice that his eyebrow was raised.

John smiled a bit as he started typing in the email addresses. “I’m sending this to Mrs. Hudson, Greg (that’s Lestrade in case you forgot again), Anderson, and for the hell of it, Mycroft. Mary I’ll ask in person.” He clicked Send then turned to look up at his friend, saying firmly, “You are going to invite Molly yourself. I don’t care if it’s in person or over the phone, but **do not** text her.”

“Obviously, eleven months of listening to Rosie cry has damaged your hearing – Molly said she doesn’t want to see me until after I’ve made this ‘emotional connection.’”

“Molly was angry and hurt when she said that. She’ll want to see the effort you’re making, trust me.” John glanced at the clock. “Give her another hour to calm down then ask her. Be contrite, but more importantly, be sincere.”

Sherlock looked dubious, but when it came to matters of the heart, when didn’t he?

John turned back to his laptop. Replies soon started coming in. “Greg says he might be late but he’ll be here. Mrs. Hudson will definitely be here. Anderson can’t make it but he sent me a link to a YouTube video of his favorite carol.” John grinned as he read the next one. “Mycroft says he’ll be here, with your parents. He says he made the mistake of mentioning the invite to them.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Mycroft has never made a mistake in his life – he wanted our parents to know.”

“Did you know they’re in town?”

“If I did, I deleted it.”

“Are you okay with them coming?”

“I’m not ‘okay’ with anyone coming, but if I try to disinvite my parents now, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

John grinned. “Good. I like them, Mary does too. They haven’t even met Rosie yet.” He glanced at the clock again then decided to call Mary.

She picked up on the third ring. “Hi, love. I just started dinner. How’s Sherlock?”

“Being his usual irritating self,” John replied, smirking.

Sherlock rolled his eyes then walked back to the kitchen, his tea still untouched.

“Who did he piss off now?” Mary asked, amused. “It can’t be Greg -- there haven’t been any ‘interesting’ crimes in the news for days.”

“No, it was Molly.” John described what happened between the consulting detective and the pathologist, and his solution.

He heard Mary chuckle. “Sherlock _was_ overdue for putting his foot in his mouth around Molly. I love your idea and I definitely want a front row seat, but we’ll have to get a sitter for Rosie – it’ll be past her bedtime.”

“We couldn’t make an exception just this once? Mr. and Mrs. Holmes haven’t met her yet, and everyone else will be happy to see her.”

“John, we both agreed she needs a regular bedtime. Since neither of us want to deal with a cranky baby the next day, we won’t be making an exception. Besides,” John could hear the fondness in his wife’s voice, “you have so many photos on your phone that it’ll be almost like she’s there with us.”

“Can I help it if she’s as photogenic as her mother?”

Mary’s laugh warmed his heart. “Flattery will get you out of doing the dishes. You’ll be home soon?”

“I’m practically out the door.”

“Good. I love you.”

“I love you too, Mary.” John hung up then went into the kitchen, where Sherlock was heating a mug of what looked to be blood in the microwave. He raised an eyebrow. “It’s things like this that fuel the ‘Sherlock is a vampire’ internet rumors.”

“It’s an experiment. Is Mary coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, but Rosie will be home with a sitter.” Sherlock looked like he was about to say something so John cut him off. “And no, you are not babysitting her, you’ll be in the thick of things here. Everyone’s taking time out of their busy holiday schedules to help you, Sherlock.”

The microwaved dinged then Sherlock removed the mug and peered at the warmed blood, which John could see had taken on a bright orange tinge.

“I won’t even ask,” he muttered.

“Best not,” Sherlock agreed. He sighed quietly. “Mycroft isn’t doing this out of the ‘goodness of his heart’ – he relishes every opportunity to remind me that he is superior.”

“Your mother will make sure he behaves.” John smiled a bit. He watched as Sherlock viewed a few drops of the orange blood under the microscope, muttering to himself. Knowing his best friend had stopped listening to him, he grabbed the kitchen timer, set it for forty-five minutes, then put the timer on the kitchen table next to Sherlock’s phone. He scribbled out a quick note on a Post-It – _call Molly_ – then stuck the Post-It to the phone.

John went back to the sitting room and took the gifts a few at a time upstairs to his old room, hiding them under the bed. By the time he was done, Sherlock was sitting in his chair, typing on his phone.

John said firmly, “I said no texting.”

“I’m not texting her, I’m deciding what I’m going to say to her. I want to get it right.”

John smiled, satisfied. “Well, then, have at it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He didn’t wait for a response, as he knew there would be none coming.

As John left the flat, he prayed the following night’s get-together would go smoothly, but he knew his friends. “At least let there be no bodies.”

Sherlock waited more-or-less, mostly less, patiently for the time John indicated, then he called Molly.

She picked up on the fourth ring, sounding out of breath. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Why do you assume something’s wrong, Molly?”

“Because you never call me. I had your ringtone set as Gerry Rafferty’s ‘Baker Street’ but it’s been so long since you last called that I had forgotten about it. The saxophone solo was almost over before I realized it was you calling. Sherlock, why aren’t you texting?”

“Because John said I shouldn’t.”

“Okay, so why are you calling me if nothing’s wrong?”

“I’m having a…,” he grimaced, “get-together at Baker Street tomorrow night. You were right, I need to find emotional connections to … things. Everyone will be there – Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, Graham…”

“You mean Greg?”

“Er, yes, Greg. Even Mycroft and my parents. You haven’t met them yet but you’ll love my father. My mother is rather … difficult.”

“I already know how to deal with two difficult Holmeses, what’s one more?”

“That’s the spirit,” he said approvingly. “Tomorrow at 9. You can bring biscuits if you want.”

He could hear the smile in her voice. “I think I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A slight interlude to build a friendship before the party.

The next morning, John came over and did a complete inventory of Sherlock’s refrigerator and pantry. “Mary assumed, quite rightly it seems, that you don’t have any ingredients we’ll need for tonight. You’ll need to get rid of the severed foot in the fridge and the eyes in the ice cube tray in the freezer. Honestly, what is it with you and eyes?”

“Molly won’t mind, she’s the one who gave them to me.”

“The rest of us will mind,” John said peevishly. He printed off two recipes from the internet then quickly wrote out a list, handing it to him. “This is what you need to buy.”

“Me?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “You actually expect me to go to the shop a week before Christmas? It’ll be an utter madhouse.”

“Consider it penance,” John muttered.

“I thought that was what tonight’s about.”

John’s response was a towel thrown in his face.

An hour later, Sherlock was still in the grocery store, glaring at the baking aisle’s offerings like they had personally offended him.

“Hello, Freak,” a familiar and unwanted female voice chirped behind him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Go away, Donovan.” He’d deliberately picked a store far from Baker Street so he’d be less likely to run into someone he knew. So much for that.

“Need some help? Food shopping can be quite intimidating.” She smirked.

“This,” he waved an arm at the aisle, “isn’t **food** ,” he sneered. “Food shopping I can handle. These are **ingredients**.”

“Ingredients for what?”

Sherlock hesitated then sighed quietly. “I was an insensitive clot.”

“You?” she smirked. “Never.”

He ignored her interruption. “As punishment, I must endure an invasion of Baker Street by my ‘nearest and dearest’ tonight, as if the Christmas party next week won’t be trying enough. John is insisting on serving hot chocolate and that I be the one to buy it. He was apparently unaware of how many types of chocolate there are.”

Sally took the list from him and looked it over. “Not all of this is for hot chocolate.”

“I’m also to buy ingredients for biscuits. John asked everyone to bring biscuits to share, and that apparently includes me.”

“Well, I suggest peppermint bark instead, it’s a good stress reliever.”

“How so?” Sherlock asked, intrigued despite himself.

“Crushing the hell out of candy canes then breaking up the bark itself. It gets all of my holiday aggression out.”

He considered her suggestion. John had said biscuits, but getting aggressive had a certain appeal after the frustrations of yesterday. “Alright, you’ve convinced me.”

Sally gave him the first genuine smile he’d ever received from her. “C’mon, I’ll help you.” She showed him what he needed for both the hot chocolate and the bark.

“Are candy canes and peppermint extract really necessary?” he asked dubiously.

She smiled a bit. “Just trust me, Holmes.”

He glanced at her shopping basket – a bottle of red wine, a box of gourmet chocolates, a celebrity tabloid, and a DVD of some ridiculous romantic comedy. “I see you’re single again.”

Sally nodded, sighing a bit. “I got tired of trying to compete with a role-playing game.”

They took their groceries to the shortest check-out line, Sherlock magnanimously paying for hers as well. After a split-second’s hesitation, he turned to her. “I’m in desperate need of a coffee, what about you?”

She blinked in surprise then nodded. “Sure.”

Once they were settled in a booth at Starbucks, Sherlock decided to just ask the question that had been on his mind almost the entire time he’d known Sally. “Why don’t you ask Graham out?”

She choked a bit on her gingerbread latte. “God, Sherlock, warn a person when you’re going to ask a question like that.”

His responding grin was anything but repentant. “Well? His divorce was finalized ages ago. He’s single, you’re single. You didn’t have any qualms about dating a married man, I can’t imagine you’d object to a divorced one.”

“He’s my boss,” she reminded him. “The Met has rules about things like that. Greg might not see anything wrong with letting you tag along, but he’s not about to date a subordinate.”

“Then why don’t you find a new detective inspector to work for? Dimmock could certainly use the help.”

“Dimmock’s an ass,” Sally said firmly. She blinked in surprise. “Don’t tell him I said that.” She sighed quietly. “Greg’s the best man I’ve ever worked with. I’ve learned so much from him.”

“You can’t keep going on like you are,” Sherlock responded. “You’re miserable and it’s going to affect your work. You need to decide who you want more – Gavin the boss or Gavin the boyfriend.”

She smiled a bit. “Why don’t you ever call him by his proper name? Surely the great Sherlock Holmes can remember one person’s full name correctly.”

Sherlock shrugged. “He doesn’t look like a Greg.” At her responding smile, he added, “Don’t avoid the question, Donovan. That’s my act, not yours.”

She took a deep breath then let it out slowly. “I have to think about it. Whichever one I choose, it would mean a big change.” She smiled mischievously. “What about you and Dr. Hooper?”

Sherlock sipped his coffee. “What about us?”

“Is there an ‘us?’ I thought it was just ‘you’ and ‘her.’” She grinned. “Everyone knows she’s been in love with you for ages. As for you, Hat-Man, you’ve fancied her for a while now.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I don’t ‘fancy’ anyone. I would never do anything so juvenile.”

“Love, then.”

“My personal life is not under discussion, Sergeant.”

“Ooo, defensive.” Sally grinned. “That’s a definite ‘yes.’”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and continued to sip his coffee.

After a moment, Sally said quietly, her eyes on her cup, “I want to apologize to you.”

“For teasing me about Dr. Hooper?”

“For thinking you were a kidnapper, and a fraud. When you were arrested, I was smug. When you jumped … I felt justified. I honestly thought only a guilty man would’ve committed suicide. Internal Affairs grilled me, Anderson, Greg, everyone pretty hard during their investigation. I assumed they would come to the same conclusions Anderson and I had.” She toyed with the lid of her cup. “When they cleared you, I was in shock. I didn’t know their verdict until it was on the news. All I remember is the sound of my coffee mug hitting the floor before running to the loo and losing my breakfast in the first stall. The guilt I felt over forcing an innocent man to kill himself hit me like a freight train.”

Sherlock nodded. “And when I revealed my ongoing survival?”

She smiled weakly. “I had to sit down, I felt so light-headed. It was like the weight of the world, or at least one arrogant consulting detective, was off my shoulders.” She took another deep breath. “I’m sorry, Holmes. I was jealous of your skills and angry that you were always rubbing our … my face in my mistakes.”

“You’re forgiven, Sally.” He smiled a bit. “Just make sure you have all the facts first next time.”

Sally laughed weakly. “Noted.”

He finished his coffee then said casually. “Why don’t you come over tonight? George will be there.”

She smirked a bit. “You’re incorrigible.”

He smirked back. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a yes. Maybe seeing him outside of work will help me make up my mind.” She grinned. “If nothing else, it’ll be a chance to see you have to deal with your feelings like the rest of us.”

“Joy of joys,” Sherlock muttered.

A few hours later, Sherlock was in the middle of crushing a dozen candy canes with a rolling pin he’d borrowed from Mrs. Hudson when he was interrupted by the voice of his former flatmate.

“What on Earth are you doing?” John asked as he came into the kitchen, utterly confused. “Mary sent me over to check on you and it looks like I’m just in time – there aren’t any candy canes in chocolate crinkle biscuits.”

“Change of plan,” Sherlock responded between attacks on the candy canes. “I’m making peppermint bark.”

“We decided everyone was bringing biscuits.”

“No, you decided. I decided to show my rebellious streak. Sgt. Donovan is helping me.”

John looked around the otherwise unoccupied kitchen. “She is?”

“I am,” came Sally’s cheerful voice from Sherlock’s mobile, which was propped up against the blender. “He’s got me on speakerphone. Hello, Dr. Watson.”

“Um, hi, Sergeant,” John said, confusion evident in his tone. “I didn’t know you and Sherlock were on speaking terms.”

“It’s amazing what a cup of coffee can do,” Sally responded. “And please, call me Donovan. Or Sally even, if you want. Holmes needed help with the bark and I needed to make my own biscuits for tonight, so I agreed to help him virtually.”

“Call me John. You’re coming over?” John asked, surprised.

Both men heard Sally laugh. “Don’t faint, but Holmes invited me.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his best friend’s incredulous look. “We buried the hatchet. You already invited all my other friends over, what’s one more? Especially since Anderson can’t make it.”

“Right…” John looked a bit dazed but decided to go along with Sherlock’s decision. “I just hope we have enough chairs.”

“I just hope somebody remembers to record the party,” Sally said, her smirk evident in her tone. “I, for one, am going to want to watch it over and over. Now, Holmes, are you done crushing the candy canes?”

“I guess I’ll leave you two to your candy-making,” John said, looking a bit dazed as he left.

Sherlock went to the sitting room windows to make sure his friend had actually left, then went back to the kitchen. “Enough about the bark, Donovan. You have to help me – what do I wear tonight?”

“Your aubergine dress shirt, obviously,” Sally replied, in a decent imitation of himself. “Dr. Hooper can’t keep her eyes off you when you wear it.” Then he heard her mutter, “Neither can any other woman, for that matter.”

Since he assumed she included herself in that statement, he decided to politely ignore it. “I was going to save that for … something.”

“Your first date, perhaps?” Her chuckle was a little too knowing for Sherlock’s taste. “The sapphire one, then. It brings out the blue in your eyes. But no jacket, this is supposed to be a casual get-together.”

“Noted.”

“Do you even own a pair of jeans?”

“Back to the bark.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally, the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. and Mrs. Holmes' first names are from William S. Baring-Gould's "Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street."

Fifteen minutes before the announced start time, Sherlock was vacuuming the sitting room when he heard the Watsons arrive. As his back was to them, he couldn’t see their faces, but he could hear the surprise in their voices.

“Are you sure he’s not a pod person?” Mary asked.

“I’ve never been sure of that,” John replied.

With his back still turned, Sherlock rolled his eyes then finally shut off the vacuum and looked up at them. “Ah, John, Mary, hello. You’re early.”

“You’re cleaning,” Mary said, grinning. “Trying to impress Molly?”

Sherlock decided not to hide the eye-roll this time. “Trying to avoid a lecture from Mother, actually. If Molly is also impressed by my efforts, well…” His eyes landed on the plastic container Mary was holding. “Ah, good, you brought biscuits. On the table, please. Everything for the hot chocolate is set up in the kitchen.”

“I’d better go inspect everything,” John said then disappeared into the kitchen.

Mary set the box of cookies on the table then glanced at the mantle. “Oh my God…” She made a beeline for the fireplace, which had a fire roaring in it, then ran a finger over the mantle. She turned to look at Sherlock, amazed. “You dusted?”

He nodded, feeling the tips of his ears flush. “Mother’s allergic…”

“Uh huh.” Mary’s grin was all-knowing. “You’ll make a fine husband one day, Sherlock Holmes.”

Certain his entire face was flushing now, he quickly changed the subject. “Who’s watching Rosie?”

“The teenage girl next door. Cute, smart, saving up for uni. Wants to be a chemist. I always feel compelled to support girls who want to go into the sciences.” Mary examined the sitting room as she spoke. “Ooo, you polished the hardwood!”

“Just the parts that are visible.”

“Well, even if Molly’s not impressed, I certainly am. Maybe you can give John a few pointers.”

“Very funny,” John muttered as he emerged from the kitchen. “The kitchen’s spotless too, for once. And no body parts in the fridge.” He glanced at Sherlock. “I don’t even want to know what you did with them.”

Sherlock gave John his best innocent look then glanced at the clock on the mantle. “The others should be here any minute.” He put the vacuum away then went into the kitchen and took the peppermint bark out of the fridge. He was arranging it neatly on a plate when a hand shot out and snatched the plate.

“I’ll take that,” Mycroft said as he turned and started walking towards the sitting room.

Sherlock retaliated by beaning his older brother on the back of the head with a sponge.

Unfortunately for him, his mother saw that. “Boys, behave,” Violet Holmes said imperiously from her place in the middle of the sofa.

“Mycroft started it,” Sherlock muttered, falling easily into his childhood routine as he followed his brother.

“Did not,” Mycroft responded, already offering bark to their father, who sat next to his wife.

Siger Holmes took a piece, then when he saw his wife was distracted by something Mary was saying, he took another. Mycroft tsked then offered some to his mother, who took a piece, and to Mrs. Hudson, who was seated on Violet’s other side. Mrs. Hudson unashamedly took two.

“Where is this young lady Mikey says you fancy, Sherlock?” Violet asked her younger son.

Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “I don’t fancy anyone, Mother.”

“That’s not true, Mrs. Holmes,” Mary said cheerfully. “Sherlock has fancied Dr. Molly Hooper for years, according to John.”

“Has he now?” Violet asked, beaming. “It’ll be nice to have a doctor in the family.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “’A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.’”

“Jane Austen, _Pride and Prejudice_ ,” came Molly’s voice as the blushing woman herself entered the room. “I didn’t know you read it, Sherlock.”

“I find women writers’ insights on the female mind invaluable,” he responded, unable to help the pleased smile that spread across his face in response to Molly’s presence. As he approached her, the smile faded when he took in her appearance – figure-hugging red jumper, black pencil skirt, and black heels – and felt his mouth go dry. Clearing his throat, he murmured, “I’m glad you came, Molly.” He gently took her box of cookies from her.

Being the highly observant man that he was, he couldn’t miss her shiver or her suddenly fidgety hands. “I, um… So am I, Sherlock,” she murmured back.

“Aww, did I already miss the good stuff?” came the mock-disappointed voice from the doorway.

Sherlock reluctantly moved away from Molly, who started introducing herself to his parents, and towards the newest arrival, scowling. “No, Donovan, you haven’t missed anything.” He took her box of biscuits from her and put hers and Molly’s on the table while Sally introduced herself to the others.

“Thank you all for coming,” John said in his best hosting voice. “As we’re only waiting on Greg Lestrade, and he said he’ll be late anyway, I think we can start on the hot chocolate, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded then went into the kitchen and started setting up a tray. John came in after a moment and leaned against the counter, smirking a bit.

“Molly looks very nice tonight,” he said, obviously wanting to gauge Sherlock’s response.

Sherlock refused to take the bait. “She always looks nice.” He filled four mugs with hot chocolate from the pot on the stove then added whipped cream and a few sprinkles just as the recipe had suggested. He took the tray to the sitting room and offered the drinks to his parents, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft.

Mycroft declined. “None for me, thank you, I’m watching my weight.”

“Well, you can watch it go up for one night,” Sherlock responded, annoyed, then he lowered his voice. “Take the damn chocolate, Mycroft.”

Mycroft smirked as he picked up the remaining mug. “My, my, so testy, brother dear. One would almost think you were emotionally invested in the success of the evening.”

Sherlock blinked in surprise then turned to glare at John. “Did you tell him?”

John looked at the Holmes brothers then looked away quickly. Too quickly. Sherlock groaned quietly in frustration then went back to the kitchen for more hot chocolate. When he returned to the sitting room, he passed cups to Molly, Sally, Mary, and John. Lestrade arrived and Sherlock felt his own mood lighten when he saw that the detective inspector was pleasantly surprised to see Sally. He went back to the kitchen and filled the final two cups then came back into the sitting room, giving one cup to Lestrade before sitting in his armchair, Molly in a chair pulled up next to his.

John continued his hosting duties from his armchair, Mary perched on one arm. “Now for the main reason we’re here tonight – Sherlock needs to find a favorite Christmas carol. We’ll go around the room. Everyone tell us what biscuits you brought and what your favorite carol is and why. I’ll start. I brought sugar biscuits, my grandmother’s recipe. As for carols, my favorite is ‘God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.’ It’s a traditional song and that’s why I like it – no matter how crazy my life is, Christmas is always this comforting presence. That song just embodies Christmas for me.” He picked up his laptop, brought up the song, and hit Play. An instrumental piano version started.

There were positive responses all around – a few “that’s sweet” and “I always loved that carol.” At John’s significant look, Sherlock got up and started passing out plates, napkins, and John’s cookies.

“Anderson couldn’t make it,” John continued, “but he sent me a video of his favorite carol.” He pushed Play and “Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer started. There were a few good-natured groans. John then smiled lovingly at his wife. “Your turn, Mary.”

Mary smiled a bit. “I brought wreath cookies.” Sherlock dutifully passed out the green wreath-shaped cookies. “My favorite carol, as of this year, is ‘What Child Is This.’”

Sherlock chuckled. Everyone but Mary turned to him in confusion, Mary simply grinned. “You don’t get it?” he asked, amazed. “John, play the song.”

John dutifully played the song. As soon as the female singer got to the part “on Mary’s lap is sleeping,” everyone laughed.

Mary beamed. “It makes me think of holding Rosie while she sleeps.”

“I’ll go next,” Lestrade said from his chair by the table. “I brought Snickerdoodles since they’re the only biscuit I know how to make. My favorite carol would be ‘Silver Bells.’ I never had much time off in December when I was first on the Met. It upset the ex something fierce but I didn’t mind. London’s really beautiful this time of year and the song makes me think of those Christmases I spent working.”

Sherlock passed out the Snickerdoodles while John played “Silver Bells.” After the first verse, Lestrade started to sing along and everyone joined him. When the song was over, Greg gently nudged Sally, who was sitting next to him.

Sally smiled a bit. “I brought chocolate espresso thumbprint biscuits.” When Lestrade muttered something about her coffee addiction, she just grinned. “My favorite carol is ‘O Holy Night.’ I was in my church’s children’s choir and every Christmas Eve until I went off to uni, I did a solo of it before the service started. People would come up to me after the service and tell me it was their favorite part. I think it has a beautiful tune and a perfect message.”

“Will you sing it for us now?” John asked.

Sally demurred but at Greg’s insistence, she gave in. John found an instrumental version and hit Play. Sally started to sing, her voice clear and resonant. After the first verse, Greg joined her then everyone else followed suit while Sherlock passed out her biscuits.

When the song was over, John turned to Mycroft, who was sitting in the chair next to the sofa. “What about you, Mycroft?”

Mycroft sat a little straighter. “I brought the chocolate crinkle biscuits Sherlock was supposed to make.” He shot his younger brother a superior grin then turned back to John. “As for carols, I don’t give in to such sentimentality.”

Sherlock could tell by the highly amused grin on John’s face that he was expecting that response. John turned to his laptop and started typing. “No favorite carol?” he asked mischievously. “Oh, I think I know the right one for you. Everyone who’s got the same idea, go to YouTube and bring up the video.” Molly, Mary, Greg, and Sally took out their phones and started typing. John said, “On the count of three, play the video. One … Two … Three.”

From each phone and John’s laptop, Thurl Ravenscroft’s rendition of “You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch” started playing. Sherlock burst out laughing at both the song and his older brother’s obvious discomfort. As Sherlock passed out the chocolate crinkle biscuits, John decided to take pity on Mycroft.

“We’re just having fun, Mycroft. At least you’re not like Moriarty – I’ve decided the best carol for him is ‘Nuttin’ For Christmas.’” He played it and everyone but Mycroft cracked up.

“Most amusing,” Mycroft muttered.

“I’ll go next,” Violet said. “I brought sugar plum shortbread. As for the carol, my favorite has always been ‘Silent Night.’ It was the first song I was able to play on the piano.”

Molly smiled at her happily. “Oh, so you’re the parent Sherlock gets his musical talent from.”

Violet nodded. “I tried to get Mycroft interested in an instrument but he preferred his books.” She smiled at her younger son fondly. “Sherlock, dear, the next time you come up, you should bring your Strad. We could do a duet.”

Sherlock made a noncommittal sound as he passed out the shortbread while John played a piano instrumental of “Silent Night.” Violet looked at her husband expectantly.

Siger cleared his throat. “I brought chocolate snowball biscuits. My favorite carol is ‘Adeste Fideles.’ It reminds me of all the hours I spent in college trying to translate Latin passages.” He smiled a bit. “I was never very good at it, but I always had a sense of accomplishment each time I finished a sentence.”

Violet patted her husband’s knee fondly as Sherlock passed out the snowballs and John played Bing Crosby’s “Adeste Fideles.” She looked at Mrs. Hudson. “What about you, Martha?”

“Oh, I brought red velvet biscuits.” Mrs. Hudson smiled slightly, a little embarrassed. “My favorite carol is Bing Crosby and David Bowie’s ‘Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy.’ I could lie and say I like the message but really, I just fancied David Bowie.”

“Hear, hear,” Mary said, grinning.

John playfully rolled his eyes as he played the song and Sherlock passed out the red velvet biscuits. He looked at Molly, who looked a bit nervous.

“You’re the last one, Molly,” he said gently.

She nodded then took a deep breath. “I brought gingerbread men. My favorite carol is ‘Carol of the Bells.’ Besides the pretty tune, I love the idea of every bell on Earth ringing to announce Christ’s birth.”

As John played the song, Sherlock opened Molly’s box of biscuits, did a double-take, then started laughing.

“I hope they’re not offensive,” Molly said, blushing a bit.

Sherlock smirked as he held one up. The gingerbread man was missing its head, a line of red icing across its neck. “For this group? Hardly.” He started passing them out. Other biscuits were missing limbs while some had spots of red icing as what Sherlock assumed to be gunshot wounds. He saved the one that had been shot in the chest for himself and gave John one that had been shot in the shoulder.

He refilled everyone’s hot chocolate then settled down in his chair while everyone talked of other things. Molly turned to him.

“So, are you getting any ideas for your own favorite carol?” she asked softly.

“No,” he admitted. “I’ll search YouTube after everyone’s gone. I’m sure something will come to me.”

Hours later, Sherlock paced his now-empty sitting room, desperately wanting a cigarette or at least some divine inspiration.

“Why is it so hard to decide on a carol?” he muttered. “I should just pick one at random and tell Molly it’s my favorite.” The disbelieving look he knew she’d give him stopped that line of thinking dead in its tracks. He went back to his laptop and did another search on YouTube. After a few clicks, he came across a video for “Christmas Eve/Sarajevo 12/24” by Trans-Siberian Orchestra. The odd title intrigued him so he pushed Play.

As soon as he heard the cellist playing “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen,” he thought of John. His best friend had done everything he could to help Sherlock apologize for being an arse. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and Sherlock knew himself well enough to realize it probably wouldn’t be the last. When the tune switched to “Carol of the Bells,” Molly came to mind. Sherlock thought about how she had always been there for him yet never asked for anything in return. The bouncing back and forth between the symphonic instruments and the electronic instruments appealed to Sherlock – it reminded him of the warring between his head and his heart, especially where Molly was concerned.

“I do believe I have my favorite.” Sherlock smiled to himself as he reached for his mobile and dialed Molly’s number.


End file.
